


How Sensibility Won the War

by LadyTorix



Series: G1 Minimus [1]
Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Decepticon Minimus, Established Relationship, M/M, Minimus is too sensible for this shit, Sassy Bee, Starscream is Starscream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-10-20 10:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20674127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTorix/pseuds/LadyTorix
Summary: If Minimus did exist in G1, where has he been this whole time?





	How Sensibility Won the War

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my friend [specspectacle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/specspectacle/) for being my beta reader!

“So you’re a Decepticon by…”

“Ritus, yes. I believe I have explained this quite adequately already,” the white and green minibot said tiredly from where he sat on the edge of the medical berth.

Optimus stared at the mech in disbelief as Ratchet hovered around him, scanning him with one of medbay’s scanners.

When the mech had first been brought back to Earth, he’d been completely coated with grime. It was only once he’d been able to get cleaned up that the purple badge in the middle of his chest became apparent.

To make this even more confusing, all the scans Ratchet had sent Optimus showed systems that were clearly Autobot in origin, not Decepticon. His programming and even his lack of in-built weapons meant that this mech had been built as an Autobot. So why in Primus’s name would he choose to call himself a Decepticon?

Ratchet straightened up, “He’s cleared, Optimus, aside from clearly needing his head examined,” he said, jabbing a finger in his patient’s direction.

“Thank you, Ratchet. Could you give us a moment?”

“Sure, no paint off my nose, it’s just _ my _ medbay, don’t mind me,” Ratchet grumbled, before the door swished closed behind him.

Optimus sank down onto one of the stools Ratchet usually used during his examinations and looked at the minibot wearily. “So you were buried for how long exactly?”

“Several million years, based on the estimates of one of the mechs that was there when they pulled me out. Mirage, I believe?”

“And you know nothing of the war.”

“Only that it seemed inevitable given the social climate when I went offline.”

Optimus ex-vented, heavily, “You are, of course, welcome to defect to our side--”

“No,” he crossed his arms and stared at Optimus resolutely.

“Perhaps long ago, the Decepticons may have had good reasons to rebel, but I guarantee that whatever they once were, they’ve long fallen to the wayside in favor of conquest.”

“If I want to find out what happened to my conjunx then they are my only option.”

“Look..,” Optimus trailed off, realizing he did not know the mech’s name, “I apologize, your designation was..?”

“Minimus Ambus.”

“Thank you, look, Minimus, I fear if I turn you over to the Decepticons then you may be harmed.”

“With all due respect sir, that is not your choice to make.”

Optimus sighed, he couldn’t fathom this situation any more than he could understand Megatron’s motives for the past million years. “Perhaps, I could ask the other Autobots if they know anything of your conjunx?”

“Unless you have a Cybertronian stationed here that was previously a deep miner, then I do not think you have any information to offer me.”

“Ironhide used to be a miner, perhaps he could--”

“No, you do not understand. A _ deep _ energon miner.”

Optimus faltered, “I’m afraid I do not understand the significance.”

“Deep energon miners were mechs that were built to _ live _ underground, most never saw the surface of the planet,” Minimus said matter-of-factly, “Very, very few mechs knew of their existence in my time, and unless something sufficiently drastic has happened since then, I suspect that would still be the case.”

Optimus hung his head, “I...I was not aware.”

“The builds used in the deep energon mines were all of Decepticon origin. If any of them have survived, than it is far more likely that they would reside with your enemies, so you can understand why my options are limited.”

“We have a database,” Optimus looked back up, hopefully, “we could search for your mech on there?”

Minimus let out a small huff of mirthless laughter, “None of them had true designations. What names they used were not even in common Cybertronian, as they were frequently only used by the miners themselves.

“How...does one not have a designation?” No designation, no name, Optimus had heard stories of course but…

Minimus’s resolve cracked ever so slightly, as his servos tightened into fists, “Their language was something that they had to invent for themselves. They used to call it miner’s dialect. I…,” Minimus trailed off before continuing, “I have no idea how I could even begin to translate the language into something that would make sense in common Cybertronian. Linguistics was never my forte.”

“Perhaps a physical description, then?” Optimus interjected desperately. Surely, any Decepticon that had bonded to a former Autobot would not have survived until the present under Megatron’s leadership. If Optimus could just prove that then he might be able to save Minimus from whatever fate the Cons would have in store for him.

“If they did not even give them the dignity of individual designations, what makes you think that their frames would fare any better?”

“Is there anything else I could do that would convince you to change your mind?” Optimus asked softly.

Minimus was quiet for several moments before ex-venting heavily. “No. No, I am afraid there is nothing you can offer me. I cannot-,” static crackled sharply in the mech’s vocalizer for a second or so, before he gathered himself to speak again. “I cannot feel anything over our conjunx bond. This could simply be caused by the millions of years apart, but that is...unlikely, given the circumstances. I _ need _ to know what happened to him.”

“Very well,” Optimus stood up. “I will...make arrangements.”

“I understand.”

Optimus’s shoulders sagged, “And you will need to be confined, as we will need to treat you as Decepticon prisoner.”

“That is likely for the best,” Minimus agreed.

Optimus commed Prowl and turned to leave the room.

“Thank you.”

Optimus didn’t have the spark to respond.

* * *

It could be months before Minimus would be able to leave the Ark. Optimus wouldn’t really be able to properly negotiate with the Decepticons until the two factions need to exchange prisoners again.

Optimus tried to check on him every few days or so, but he was warmed to realize that he was not the only one to visit the solitary mech. Sparkplug, Chip, and even Spike had stopped by from time to time. Chip was fascinated by Minimus’s descriptions of pre-war Cybertron, so the two had even struck up a friendship.

Bumblebee and Mirage had been with the group that had seen the weak lifesign reading under an old ruin of a building, and they frequently stopped by to check on him too. Minimus may not have had the cheeriest deposition by any means, but Bee liked everyone, and Mirage was delighted to find another high born mech to commiserate with.

Optimus privately hoped that meeting the other Autobots and their human friends would eventually change Minimus’s mind, but deep down, he doubted it would. It was clear that his devotion to his sparkmate was not something to be taken lightly.

* * *

“Ah, the parties. What I wouldn’t give for another party,” Mirage said longingly, “I just miss seeing anything of _ beauty _.”

Minimus nodded politely.

“What do you miss most?” Mirage glanced at Minimus expectantly.

“I suppose...feeling clean would be at the top of my list.”

Mirage hummed in agreement, “I definitely miss the scented solvents. There was this absolutely stunning one made with Galena, but of course any kind of choice would be an improvement to what we have available on the Ark.”

Minimus liked Mirage. Truly, he did, but he deeply wished the mech would stop trying to talk to him about life in the Towers. Mirage’s pre-war life had seemed to be full of so many things Minimus had never enjoyed in the first place. And he wasn’t sure how much longer his (formidable) politeness was going to win out against his own rapidly increasing discomfort.

“Oh! I know,” Mirage snapped his digits, “Do you know what I miss? Hunting! The turbo fox hunts were always enjoyable!”

Minimus froze, but Mirage had a distant look in his optics and kept talking with a soft smile on his faceplates.

“We would often go out just after dusk--myself and my friends Gloss and Astro…”

He could feel himself beginning to shake and gripped his hands together in an effort to ground himself.

“They were wiley little opponents sometimes. I remember during one hunt--,” Mirage stopped suddenly, his optics widening as he caught sight of Minimus, “You’re shaking like a leaf, are you alright?”

Minimus squeezed his optics shut and tried to take deep shuddering vents. When his ventalitions finally slowed he opened his optics to see Mirage with his outstretched servo frozen in the air, a horrified expression on his faceplates.

“Should I fetch Ratchet?”

Minimus shook his head.

“If-if it was something I said, I apologize,” Mirage stuttered, still watching him worriedly.

Minimus ex-vented, “Mirage, do you know what domestication is?”

“No? Should I?”

“It is a type of punishment, or torture to be more accurate. They would remove the voicebox, and either damage or destroy the transformation cog of mechs with beast alts.”

Mirage gasped, bringing his servo up to cover his mouth.

“They often...they were often released in hunting grounds for nobles to…”

“Oh,” Mirage said softly, understanding dawning in his optics.

“Yes,” Minimus said solemnly.

“I...I didn’t know, I am so sorry, Minimus I didn’t mean--”

“I know. Most mechs were never aware,” Minimus stood and touched Mirage’s shoulder gently through the bars. “Mirage...I am glad that your upbringing was not painful, and I am sorry to have to dispel some of your positive experiences in such a way.”

“No, no,” Mirage shook his head quickly, looking back at Minimus, “I should--you did the right thing. How...how ever did you find out?”

“My brother had a turbo fox alt. Domestication was how the senate punished him in the end for daring to speak out against them,” Minimus found he couldn’t meet Mirage’s eyes. He couldn’t bear to see the horror that he knew lay there.

“I am so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” Minimus said with a sigh and sank back down on the bench behind him.

“But why didn’t your house protect him!?! They should have!”

“The house of Ambus did indeed look after their own, but only so long as their own were behaving in ways they approved of,” Minimus said with a grimace. “And my brother had long lost their grace, for daring to be the kind of politician that he was.”

“But…,” Mirage faltered.

“And they had all but disowned me at that point for bonding with someone so far below my station. There was...nothing I could do,” Minimus said softly.

“That’s horrible!” Mirage burst out. “Minimus, I am so sorry--I had no idea.” He grasped Minimus’s servo with both of his own, “I swear to you, I will not speak so candidly about this again.”

* * *

“I had no idea!” Mirage said, panic causing his voice box to noticeably fritz.

“None of us did, Mirage.”

“Yes, but I was **right there!** I should have been able to see what was really happening around me!"

“Mirage,” Optimus said gently, taking the smaller bot by the shoulders, “you were not trying to hurt Minimus. Just take this as a learning experience going forward.” He paused, “As painful as this experience was for _ both _ of you, it certainly does go a long way to explain Minimus’s distrust of us.”

Mirage nodded, face downcast, “I don’t think I would trust us either.”

* * *

In the darkness Minimus stared at the ceiling of his cell despondently. He could still feel the smallest thread of the conjunx bond on his spark, but no matter what he did, he felt no response.

It was the emptiest he had ever felt in his life.

His conjunx was dead, Minimus knew he needed to accept that but he just...couldn’t. Not if there was even the most infinitesimal chance that he had survived the war.

The worst part was the not knowing.

Did he think Minimus had abandoned him? Was he afraid in the end? Did they come for him and drag him back down into the mines?

Did he die in the dark? Did he die alone? Was he in pain? Was it quick?

_ Did he know that Minimus loved him? _

Minimus blinked back the coolant in his optics with a silent sob. If only...if only he hadn’t gone to work that day. Maybe, maybe they could have done something, gotten off planet before the war started, something!

Maybe then his conjunx would still be alive.

Minimus offlined his optics and surrendered himself to the oblivion of recharge, but even in his sleep he couldn’t fully escape the tightness that clutched at his spark.

* * *

Minimus’s facial insignia twitched as he looked down at the game board. Chip had been teaching him to play chess, and while he believed he was improving, he had been pleasantly surprised at the little human’s excellent tactical thinking skills.

The pieces moved back and forth between the two of them as they played.

“So, I heard Optimus mention this before but, what’s a conjunx? Err..,” Chip paused, “If you don’t mind me asking I mean.”

Minimus hummed thoughtfully as he studied the board, “After talking to Sparkplug, I believe it is most analogous to your human concept of marriage.”

“Really!?” Chip’s eyes lit up, “I never knew you guys got married!”

“I doubt the other Autobots would bring it up much after a millennia of war. Doubtless many of them have lost mechs they were once bonded to.”

Chip winced, “Oh…sorry...that makes sense, I should have thought of that before bringing it up.”

“That was not an admonishment, Chip,” Minimus said calmly. “I do not mind your questions. If I did, I would tell you.”

“So how do Autobot--”

Minimus coughed politely and shot him a prim look from across the board.

“Right, sorry,” Chip amended, “Cybertronian marriages work, anyway?”

“Similar to human marriages so far as I can gather. A ceremony of some sort, though that may depend on the couple’s own religious and personal beliefs of course. Generally, the two mechs cohabitate from that point going forward. They may, or may not be part of a larger house or group--similar in function to human families, if so the second mech would become a part of the first mech’s house.”

“Kinda like how women usually take their husband’s last names?”

“A comparison can be drawn yes, though it could be either mech, regardless of their gender, as you humans would perceive it.”

Chip nodded agreeably, “Oh, I know. Plenty of women don’t take their husband’s names either, and I mean, it’s rarer but you see plenty of same gender relationships with humans, too.” He jolted upright for a split second, “Are their any married couples on the Ark?”

“Oh yes, I would assume so. I would be willing to bet good money on Mirage being in a relationship with either Hound or Cliffjumper, or possibly both, for one.”

“Really? But Cliffjumper and Mirage are always fighting!”

Minimus chuckled, “I suggest you pay more attention to them the next time they are not fighting.”

“I will,” Chip nodded and grinned, “Checkmate by the way.”

“So I see. You are very good at this.”

Chip laughed, “I’ve just had lots of practice. Do you want to play again?”

Minimus nodded, and the human began to resetting the board.

Chip moved first, “So what is your conjunx like?”

“He _ was _…,” the word cut through Minimus’s spark like a blade, but he forced it out anyway, “--witty, and intelligent. But he had a stubborn streak an astro-mile wide. He…,” Minimus allowed himself a small, sad smile, “wrote the most wonderful poetry.”

“Oh, was he a writer?” Chip asked excitedly.

“Perhaps in another life. No, he was a deep energon miner. Dangerous work, and most were not onlined with the ability to read. He taught himself at some point, after considerable effort--datapads were rare down that deep.”

“They weren’t allowed to read!?!”

“That is one way of phrasing it, yes.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Most things about the mines were terrible.”

“How did the two of you meet?”

“He wrote my brother, Dominus.”

“Why did he write your brother?”

“Dominus was a politician. He had been working for the rights of the underclass for years. My conjunx- my husband gave him enough information on what was going on in the mines to push for an inspection. Frustratingly that went nowhere, so we began the long and arduous process of petitioning to get him brought to the surface. Dominus truly believed if we could just get what was really going on out there then something would be done.”

“...did it help?”

Minimus shook his head sadly, “No, the other senators did not want to listen. To do so would have meant admitting that their lives were but a glittering facade built on the people standing below them.”

“That’s horrible.”

“It is,” Minimus agreed.

“Humans...we do that kind of thing, too. Change takes a long time--and that’s a long time to _ us. _ I can’t even imagine how long it could take Cybertronians compared to that.”

“Eons, yes.”

“I’m sorry,” Chip reached through the bars and squeezed Minimus’s hand.

“Thank you, Chip,” he said quietly, gingerly squeezing back.

* * *

“Optimus, you’re sure?”

“I am deeply sorry, Chip.”

“It’s not fair, there’s got to be something we can do!” Chip said slapping his open palm for emphasis.

“We have no information on even the existence of deep energon miners. It is likely that the council had them killed before the start of the war. Even when we hand him over to the Decepticons, I fear he will not find any satisfactory answers there either.”

“Prime!” Jazz said sharply from his station, “We got problems.”

Wonderful, Optimus thought as he turned towards Jazz’s console, “What kind of problems?”

“Big, grey, and angry!”

“Is he alone?”

“Seems like it, according to the readings we’re getting. No way of telling if any of the cassettes are stalkin’ around though.”

Internally Optimus groaned as a blinking light indicated an incoming comm on Jazz’s console.

“Want me to patch ‘em through?”

“That would probably be best, Jazz.” Damn Megatron’s timing to the pits!

* * *

“Minimus.”

Bumblebee and Minimus looked up from some sort of puzzle Spike had brought in. Optimus believed it was called a Rubik’s cube.

“Sir?”

Optimus sighed and stepped closer to the two of them, “With your permission, I would like to try something before handing you over to the Decepticons directly.”

Minimus’s optics brightened, “Did you finally get in touch with them?”

“I believe I’m about to, yes. Megatron’s shown up for some reason or another, alone. Generally, that means they need something from us. I would like to ask for any information on your conjunx as the price for whatever that is.”

Minimus nodded, “That is acceptable. What do you need from me, Optimus?”

* * *

Unfortunately for Optimus, what information Minimus could (or would) hand over was a slew of unreadable glyphs in miner’s dialect, and he had absolutely no idea what they said.

Outside, Megatron was waiting for him, his arms crossed and his optics narrowed.

“What do you want, Megatron?”

“Parley for the return of my idiotic second-in-command.”

Optimus blinked, “Starscream?”

“No, Ramjet--of course Starscream!”

“We don’t have him.”

“What do you mean you don’t have him?” Megatron growled. “He’s signal’s been missing since yesterday, if you don’t have him then who in Cybertron’s two moons does!?!”

“Are you sure he’s not attempting to make another combiner to assassinate you again?” Optimus replied dryly.

“He’d better not be.” Megatron snorted and uncrossed his arms “You really don’t have him then?”

“I assure you, if we did, we would hand him over. He’s a terrible prisoner--however do you handle that voice echoing through your base?”

“One bonus to having an underwater base. Better noise insulation.”

Optimus shuffled uncomfortably, “Was that all you needed?”

“It was,” Megatron said curtly as he turned to leave.

“Wait! I have a question for you.”

Megatron rolled his optics, “Spit it out then, Prime--clearly I have wasted enough time _ here _ for today.”

“Are there any surviving Decepticon deep energon miners among your ranks?”

Megatron smirked, “A rather dark subject for you to broach, Optimus.”

“Just answer the question.”

“Yes. One. The rest were wiped out before the start of the war, or didn’t you know?” Megatron said mockingly.

“Are you in contact with them?”

Megatron snorted, “I would fragging hope so.”

“I want information about a mech.”

“And why would you think I would help you with this little endeavour?”

“Because if you do then I’ll have Jazz send over the unusual readings we’ve been getting for the past 48 hours. It doesn’t take a genius to guess that Starscream’s probably involved somehow.”

“Readings first.”

“I have your word?”

“Yes, you have my word,” Megatron snapped. “But Soundwave may as well be doing something productive with the data while I’m answering your damn riddle.”

As soon as the readings had been sent off, Megatron waved his arm imperiously in Optimus’s direction, “What’s this about a mech?”

Optimus sent over the glyphs he’d been given. Megatron paused for a moment before looking at him sharply, “Is this some kind of joke, Prime?” he snarled.

“It’s miner’s dialect--”

“I know what miner’s dialect is!” Megatron cut him off. “I'm asking why the frag do you have this?”

“That’s none of your business, Megatron.”

“Like hell it isn’t!”

Optimus rubbed his temple, “Just tell me if you know how the damn mech died, Megatron, this really doesn’t need to be any more complicated than that.”

Megatron stared at him, “You have no idea what this says, do you?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Tell me the source, and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

Optimus sighed, well, so much for keeping Minimus out of this, “We pulled a mech out of some rubble a few months ago on Cybertron. He gave it to me.”

“And you really expect me to believe that?”

“I don’t really care what you believe, Megatron,” Optimus said irritably.

“Get down," Megatron said sharply.

“What?”

“GET DOWN!”

And then the ground around them exploded.

* * *

The ground rocked beneath Bumblebee as he grabbed onto the wall in an effort to keep standing.

“What was that?” Minimus said looking up.

Bumblebee pulled himself upright, “No idea.” He commed the control room, “Hey Jazz, what’s going on?”

“Looks like Optimus and ‘ol Megs were talking when Screamer showed up out of nowhere and started blastin’ everything with some new weapon!” Jazz’s voice crackled through the comm.

Bee rolled his optics, “So, Starscream’s gone rogue again.”

“That’s about the sound of it, Bee. You better get out there!”

“On my way!”

“Bumblebee, if I may offer to help?” Minimus said, standing up on the other side of the cell bars.

“I thought you didn’t want to fight Decepticons?”

“Correct, but if Starscream is acting on his own, AND he is endangering the Ark, which is currently housing organic civilians, then I believe it is my duty to assist.”

“That sounds great! But, uh, I don’t have the cell keycode--let me call Jazz back--”

“No matter,” Minimus said pleasantly, grabbing hold of two of the cell bars and bending them outwards.

Bee stared at him open mouthed, “You could have gotten out at any time!?!”

“Well...er, yes.”

“HOW!?!”

“I am a load bearer. I would likely be able to deadlift Optimus if I made an attempt to do so.”

“What--how--what,” Bumblebee said, incoherently.

Minimus patted him on the back gently, “I believe Optimus needs our help?”

* * *

Starscream was having the time of his EXISTENCE. Sure Megatron wasn’t _ quite _ dead yet, but he’d forced him and Optimus behind a boulder and it would take just a few more shots to blow them both away. Then he’d be the rightful ruler of the Decepticons! And he would have taken out Optimus--fragging--Prime, which was more than Megatron had **ever** accomplished.

A suitably _ explosive _ start to his new Decepticon empire indeed!

Forcing Dr. Arkeville to build his this new blaster had been a genius plan on his part. It was nearly impossible for Megatron to catch wind of it for one. Megatron would never debase himself to communicate with an organic directly, _ of course. _

But Starscream knew better--humans could have their uses if they were properly managed. And when he was leader of the Decepticons he fully intended to continue this little partnership. (At least until it stopped being useful.)

Starscream was so oblivious to everything that was not himself, his blaster, or his two targets that he didn’t realize he was being attacked until something dug into his wing so hard that the tip snapped off. Losing control of his flight path, he fell screaming to the ground below.

* * *

Starscream hit the ground in a cloud of dust.

Some distance away, Minimus hit the ground in a slightly smaller cloud of dust. As he lay there, Minimus ran diagnostics on all his systems. He hadn’t taken any major damage, but that did not mean he wasn’t dented all to hell.

Bumblebee peeked over the side of the crater he found himself in, “Are you okay?”

Minimus grunted as he sat up gingerly and nodded to Bee.

“Good to hear it!” Bee reached down and helped him up to ground level.

Minimus sunk to a sitting position next to Bumblebee, “Please tell me that worked.”

“Oh, perfectly! Starscream’s out stone cold.”

“Good.”

“I mean, I thought you were nuts when you said to throw you, but wow, you did great for being a noncombatant!”

Minimus nodded, helm aching, “And Optimus?”

“Oh, him and tall, dark, and ugly are totally fine too, don’t worry.”

Minimus sagged forward, resting his helm in his hands. Primus his body hurt.

“Hey, let me help you up, buddy,” Bumblebee looped his arm under Minimus’s shoulder and helped him stand.

They made their way over to where Optimus was standing with his hands on his hips, looking down into the larger crater.

“Bumblebee, Minimus, I do not know what you did, but it was appreciated.”

“Oh, it was pretty much all Minimus!” Bumblebee said excitedly, “I threw him on Starscream and he broke Starscream’s wing with his bare servos, you should have seen it, Prime!”

It was all Minimus could do to stay standing, so he attempted to focus on that for the moment. Optimus knelt beside him and put his servo on Minimus’s other shoulder, “Don’t worry, we’ll get Ratchet to fix you up. Bumblebee, can you get him inside?”

“Yup! No problemo!”

But before they had gotten more than a few yards away, Minimus heard something heavy climb out of the crater behind them and a voice like gravel spoke, “Well, he’s alive--for all the good that does me. Laserbeak should be along to retrieve him.”

Minimus’s body stiffened, and Bumblebee looked down at him in concern, but helped support him when he tried to turn to look behind them.

A large grey mech was talking to Optimus, “And considering it was your Autobots that saved both our afts today, I will provide you with the answer you seek.”

“Oh? I’m surprised you remembered in all the excitement,” Optimus said with the smallest hint of sarcasm.

“Don’t tempt me, Prime,” the other bot snapped, “I could still haul Starscream back to base myself and not answer your query.”

“How did the miner die then, Megatron?”

“He didn’t. Congratulations, you’ve hit on the one miner who didn’t die with all the rest.”

Optimus ex-vented in exasperation, “Stop being cryptic, if he’s not dead, then where is he?”

The grey mech laughed, “Come now, Prime--you didn’t think I always turned into a weapon, did you?”

“Don’t joke about this, Megatron,” Optimus said, angrily.

Minimus’s processor spun helplessly, Megatron, that was Megatron? That didn’t make any sense, none of this made any sense. Why would--

“I’m not joking,” the mech said pointedly, glaring at Optimus. “That glyph means 'Megatronus' in common Cybertronian."

“Fine, but that’s still not _ your _ name.”

“Oh yes, and your Autobots call you, ‘Optimus Prime’, all the time, do they? I shortened it about the time I became a gladiator.” He paused, “Now, I suggest you tell me how you actually got that information, before I lose what’s left of my already limited patience.”

Minimus shook his head sharply. Primus, he _ must _ have taken more damage than he had thought…

“Are you okay?” Bumblebee looked down concerned, but when Minimus didn’t respond he turned to Optimus, “Hey! I think we need to get Ratchet or First Aid out here, he doesn’t look so good.”

This appeared to have caught Optimus and Megatron’s attention. The grey mech’s head snapped towards Minimus, glaring, anger radiating off of his frame...at least at first. When their optics met, his mouth fell open in shock as his optics flicked over Minimus’s frame.

“Minimus!?!”

Optimus tried to shout, “Wait!” but it was too late, Megatron was already striding over to where Minimus and Bumblebee were standing.

For just a click Minimus saw the anger in the mech’s face drain away into fear? Hope? Whatever it was--for just a split second Minimus could recognize someone much, much more familiar underneath.

But the scrowl came back with a vengeance when he snarled at Bumblebee upon approaching, “I suggest you step away right now, _ Autobot _.”

“No,” Bumblebee said sternly. “I’m staying right here until Ratchet or First Aid gets out here and looks Minimus over. And you’re not going to do a fraggin’ thing about it!”

“What was that, Autobot!?!” Megatron roared back.

“You’re going to sit down, shut up, and let an actual damn medic look him over before he goes with you or whatever!” Bumblebee shouted, “You know our medics are better than the Cons’! And besides--badge aside, he was built as an Autobot, what do you think your army’s gonna do when they find that out!?!”

Megatron gritted his dentae and his hands were gripped tightly into fists, but he stepped back and straightened up, never taking an eyes of Minimus.

“SIT,” Bee commanded, narrowing his optics.

Growling, the grey mech slide to the ground with a thump.

“Bee,” Minimus patted Bumblebee’s arm, “Will you help me over there, please?”

With his free hand, Bumblebee pointed at Megatron, “And if you fly off with him before we know he’s okay, I am going to fragging shoot you, got it?”

Bumblebee waited until the other mech had given a short jerky nod before he helped Minimus approach him.

Megatron raised his arm stiffly, and Minimus was relieved to have something to grab onto, especially once Bee finally unhooked his arm from underneath Minimus’s back and stepped away. Red optics watched him silently, the mech’s mouth pulled down into a grim line.

Minimus tentatively reached across the faint conjunx bond and was surprised at the forceful response after months and months of silence. The bond was too fragile from disuse for much beyond small snippets of feeling, but he was still nearly overwhelmed by the depth of the emotions that were coming across in those short bursts.

Love, fear, anger--no, not at him--but at the time wasted. Time they could have been together if only he’d known where to look. He would have dug Minimus out with his bare servos if he’d known.

Minimus’s pedes wobbled unsteadily beneath him. Megatron scooped him up and deposited him in his lap, wrapping his arms protectively around him.

Somewhere above him, Minimus heard Bumblebee start to say something, but he was cut off my Optimus, “Bumblebee...let them be.”

* * *

“Is that miner’s dialect?”

“I can’t understand a lick of it, so I would assume so,” Optimus replied.

They moved back to give the other two mechs some amount of privacy, but they could still hear their voices, or at least Megatron’s voice. 

“...Does--does it sound like singing or is that just me?”

“It certainly sounds more melodic than common Cybertronian or any Earth language I am familiar with.”

“Optimus, it sounds like Megatron’s singing a fragging lullaby,” Bumblebee’s optics stayed glued on the two mechs in the distance as the corners of his mouth plates twitched.

“I know Bumblebee.”

“How are you keeping a straight face?”

“I’m not,” Optimus tapped his face mask.

“Lucky,” Bee grumbled, kicking some dirt with a pede. “Where’s Ratchet, anyway?”

“Apparently, with all the excitement out here it shook something loose near the medbay, they had to clear the hallway first. I’m sure he’ll be along soon.

They heard a siren behind them, “Speak of the devil,” Bumblebee muttered, turning.

A few clicks later and Ratchet straightened up beside him, “Alright, where’s my damn patient?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Optimus saw Bumblebee double over in silent laughter, but he just ex-vented and nodded towards where Megatron was still protectively curled around Minimus.

“WHAT THE HELL.”

Optimus cleared his intake and looked at Ratchet sheepishly, “We, er, seem to have found Minimus’s conjunx.”

“And his conjunx is fucking MEGATRON!?!”

“Uh...yes.”

Ratchet let loose a slew of cursing, running through all of the Cybertronian and English profanities in his databanks, and few other languages besides.

“Are you quite finished?” Megatron sneered as he walked over, carrying Minimus in his arms.

“I’VE BARELY BEGUN!” Ratchet snapped, whirling around and jabbing a finger in Megatron’s direction. “So I’d start taking notes on what Minimus is gonna need after this, because I will NOT be repeating myself to you of all mechs!”

* * *

“You’re...proposing a treaty?” Optimus stared down at the datapad in his hand.

“Yes, Prime,” Megatron growled, “I suggest you take it before I change my mind.”

“Not that this isn’t wonderful news--but why the pit are you willing to do this now and not some time in the past thousand centuries!?!”

“My new second-in-command has convinced me that the bulk of your remaining Autobots were truly ignorant of a great many of the plights plaguing the Decepticons before the war.”

Optimus chuckled, reaching into his desk and pulling out two energon cubes and handing one across the desk, “He’s fitting in well then?”

“Motormaster tried to challenge his position within the first couple of days,” Megatron snorted, “for all the good it did him. Minimus flipped him into a wall, no one else has been idiotic enough to bother him since.”

“We were rather afraid you would kill him,” Optimus said quietly.

“A reasonable assumption, but there has always been more to Minimus than, if I may borrow a phrase from you, ‘meets the eye.’ He’s more than capable of defending himself. Besides…,” Megatron took a swig of energon, “Soundwave likes him. I pity anyone who would try anything if either he or his cassettes were nearby.” He smirked, “And that’s not even taking into account on what _ I _ would do to them.”

* * *

“You know, when you described your spouse, Megatron’s not what came to mind.”

Minimus chuckled, moving a rook on the board before looking at Chip, “Well, _ a lot _ has changed in the past several million years.”

“I still can’t believe that you gave up your position in the house of Ambus to marry him!” Mirage cut in, his optics wide.

“I loved him,” Minimus shrugged, “I would make the same choice again if given the chance.”

“Yes--but...er, how is everything going with uh, you two?”

“I am still adjusting to my new reality, but I _ will _ adjust.” Minimus cleared his intake, “I cannot thank you all enough for reuniting us.”

“Seems to me that you did that yourself,” Bumblebee said, sliding into the chair next to Minimus with a wink.

“Perhaps, but I could have done nothing had you both not unburied me from beneath that old ruin.”

“So how are the Cons treating you?”

“Oh most of them are fine. It took nearly two months for Starscream to stop trying to assassinate me, but he seemed to calm down immensely once we agreed to the ceasefire with you. I believe Skyfire’s presence has been very soothing for him.”

Chip smiled, “It’s a good thing for Skyfire too, he’s been a lot more cheerful lately.”

“For the most part, the rest have followed suit,” Minimus said matter of factly. “I have been working with several of them improving conditions in the base, which has significantly improved morale all around.”

Bee reached over and squeezed Minimus’s hand, “Be honest--I mean this seriously, are you happy?”

“Yes, Bumblebee. Very much so.”

“I do hope you’re not insinuating otherwise, _ Autobot _,” a voice came from behind them.

Bumblebee groaned, and turned to look at Megatron as he walked over to their group “Oh, right, how dare I be worried about my friend around a bunch of Cons. Silly me.”

“Checkmate!” Chip said from across the table grinning.

“Blast--I will win eventually. Good game Chip,” Minimus shook Chip’s hand gingerly before standing up and looking at Megatron. “All done?”

Megatron stroked his chin and looked down at the game board, “What is this?”

“A human game. It is called Chess. Chip was teaching me how to play during my time on the Ark.”

“What kind of game, for what purpose?”

“It’s a strategy game, but it’s just for fun,” Chip piped up helpfully.

“A strategy game, you say?” Megatron reached down and disconnected his Fusion Cannon from his arm, before leaning it against the nearby wall and taking a seat across from the human boy, “You will teach me how to play.”

“His name is Chip,” Minimus said patiently.

Megatron rolled his optics, “Very well, Chip--teach me this human game. Minimus tells me I should give you organics more chances to prove yourself.”

“As long as you don’t use your cannon on me if you lose, then sure,” Chip laughed a little nervously.

“Such a circumstance seems unlikely, but seeing as Minimus likes you--if you lose I will not shoot you.”

“That seems oddly specific,” Bumblebee waggled his finger at Megatron.

He rolled his optics, “He will not come to harm.”

“Nah-uh, and what about everybody else?”

“I will not kill, maim, or otherwise harm anyone if I lose this damn game, satisfied?”

“Yup,” Bee said agreeably as he scooted over so Minimus could sit between him and the larger mech.

“Alright then, I guess I should start with the rules--”

* * *

“Damn human,” Megatron muttered as they exited the Ark into the chill night air.

“Chip,” Minimus corrected gently.

“Damn Chip.”

“I tried to warn you that he was quite skilled.”

Megatron snorted, “So you did.”

“Do you think Optimus will sign the treaty?”

“Yes, but he’ll hoo and hum about it for a week. And make Prowl look it over for loopholes, probably.”

Minimus looked hurt for a moment, “I did not put any loopholes--”

“I assure you it is because he doesn’t trust me, not because of any fault of your own,” Megatron said soothingly.

Minimus still let out an annoyed little huff and Megatron chuckled. “Shall we return home then?”

“I was actually hoping we could walk together for a little while?” Minimus said hopefully, looking up at him, “The sky is beautiful tonight.”

“That is easily arranged.”

* * *

Optimus ex-vented heavily, looking back down at the datapad in his servos.

The ceasefire had been in place for a couple of months, and so far the Decepticons had stuck with it. They had even entered into agreements with a few scientific labs to exchange information and technology to come up with methods to generate their own energon.

Minimus’s idea no doubt, Optimus thought smiling underneath his faceplate.

The mech was far too sensible to let a wasteful war continue while he was around, and Optimus, for one, was extremely grateful for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know where this came from and at this point I’ve mostly stopped trying to figure out the silly things by brain latches onto. Wherever it came from, I enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoyed reading it!
> 
> P.S. I don’t know how the hell Bee turned out so sassy, but I love it. Sassy Bee for life!

**Author's Note:**

> You can usually find me (often literally) screaming about robots on Tumblr at [twilight-owl](http://twilight-owl.tumblr.com/).


End file.
